Those Crimson Tears
by DicloniusAngel
Summary: "'You are not special. I could kill you right here, and no one would notice. I could drain you dry, and nobody would care.' And I thought, no, no one would. Then, I thought of you." Zero/Yuki. Kaname's a bitch.
1. Chapter 1

_**Genres: Horror, a.k.a. abuse, like, domestic violence, and romance.**_

_**Medium: Vampire Knight Anime.**_

_**Rating: T, for violence, mentions of sex, mentions of rape. VIOLENCE. LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF LANGUAGE.**_

_**THERE IS NOT: REVEALED LEMONS. I don't even write detailed make out scenes, all right? No lemons.**_

**AN: You may call me Cassie. I call you lovelies. This is . . . sort of drabbles. The main ship is Yero/Zuki. I don't know the ship, so vote on it, please, in the reviews. First thing you should know: I fucking hate Kaname. Second thing you should know: I DID NOT READ THE MANGA, NO MATTER HOW MUCH I WANTED TOO. I watched the anime, every episode, except episode twenty-two. THE ENDING WAS SHIT. I shipped Kuki (haha) for the first couple episodes, but then started calling him a fuckass through the screen. I HATE HIM SO MUCH. Zero? Zero I adore. What else do I adore? The fact that YUKI IS NOT A BELLA SWAN.**

**THANK YOU WORLD.**

**Anyway. Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Knight, or any characters atributed to Vampire Knight. Done? Done.**

**Enjoy. Comment. My authors notes aren't usually this long, I promise. Also, I've moved everyone to Nothern Oregon.**

Chapter 1

My shadow is cast at the end of the stairs by the window at the top of the stairs. As I step soundlessly onto the first landing, slim legs step with me, cast in shadow. They disappear, blending with the darkness, as I ascend the stairs, which do not creak under my weight. I've learned where not to step, in the two weeks that I've lived here.

There is heavy gasping coming from the master bedroom. I bite my lip, a lump in my throat, and look through the door.

Same furniture.

Two chairs, one straight-backed and wooden, with cushions around the back, seat, and arms, behind the door, the other across the room, green and leather and overstuffed to Hell, which I had spent many nights crying myself to sleep in. My husband, Kaname's, was the uncomfortable one. A desk, creamy white wood, sanded but unstained, with it's black rolling computer chair. The pine chest at the end of the bed, its surface both rough and smooth, holding blankets and extra clothing, and unnecessary things like my cell phone and laptop. The dressers, one tall and chocolate-colored, the other short and black. The bathroom door, closed, with a towel on the back of the door.

And the bed, where Ruka Souen's tall frame sat, half-naked, straddling a shirtless Kaname, kissing down his neck. When I had done that, a year after our wedding, he had slapped me, and told me, strongly, "You will not drink the blood of a pureblood."

I hadn't reminded him that my fangs hadn't peeked out in the slightest, hadn't even brushed his skin. And here was Ruka, with her light brown hair and perfect body, biting at his neck, which he'd threatened to kill me should I do so.

Kaname was looking at the door. Like he could see me. I hoped he couldn't.

I turned from the bedroom, letting pureblood emotionlessness encase me, and lock the door leading to Kaname and Ruka in the bathroom. I scoop up a tee shirt and a sweater and a pair of jeans, tucking them into my messanger bag, grabbing any undergarments of mine I could find. There was only one of anything, and I didn't know the way to the laundry room—Kaname kept me in the bedroom all day, every day, I'd just snuck through the window to see my adoptive father while he was the shower (Kaname, not my father)-,so I simply grabbed my hair brush and tooth brush, and made my way back outside.

. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . . . .. ... . . . .. . .. . . . . .. ..

I've cried before. I don't do it often, but I've cried before. Only usually a few tears. That's what I do now. I cry. Only a few tears.

When I am done, I scrub at my face with my hand, look around the hotel room, that I'd persuaded the guy at the front desk to give me, and stripped down to my undergarments and climbed into the covers, having no pajamas. The blanket was heavy and the mattress was soft, and I fell asleep pretty quickly.

I don't dream. Thank god.

. . . . . . . . .. . . .. . .. . . . .. . .. . .

When I wake in the morning, I am disoriented and the world is fuzzy. My arm is pin-and-needling. My neck hurts like a bitch.

I get up, rubbing my elbow. The clock says, 5:32 in red.

I have a breakfast of water, from the bathroom sink, and brush my hair and teeth, not bothering with a shower, before getting dressed and grabbing my bag and leaving. Down the stairs, out the door. Not out the window, people would notice.

. . .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . ..

Knock. Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock.

"Dammit, Zero, open your damn door!" I grumble to myself, hitting said door with the side of my fist. When there are no footsteps, I kick it open, settling it back on its frame once I'm inside.

The entryway, fitted with a coat rack and a bench and a rug to catch mud, opens into a living room. It is cluttered, scattered clothing draped over a couch and end tables, a rug thrown between the couches and a fireplace. A hallway leads to the left, and an entryway on the right leads to a dining room and kitchen and bathroom.

I follow snoring down the hallway and through one of three doors. Bedroom. I slip off my jeans, and get under the covers next to the boy who glints in the moonlight. He didn't wake at the door, so I figured he wouldn't at this. I was half right.

I roll up the sleeves of my sweater to my elbows, turning to look at the wall. I pull the edge of it up, touching the edge of the Artemis Rod strapped to my side.

My eyes close, and I am about two minutes from sleep when he rolls over, throwing his arms around me, one under my head, reaching down to entertwine with the hand lying limply in front of my flat stomach, the other around me, hand slipping under me to grip my waist. The active movements let me know he wasn't asleep.

At least he's fully clothed, there's a sleeve my my face.

His head rests on top of mine, silver hair falling into my eyes. "Yuki," he says huskily. "Since when did you sleep in my bed?"

"Since I said so." I whisper to him. "Please, not now. I'll explain in the morning."

"Fine," he replies. "I'm tired."

It is silent, but hee doesn't resume snoring. A minute later, my voice breaks the silence. "Zero?"

"Yeah?" He asks.

I kiss his cheek lightly. "I've missed you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wassup. Review. This chapter is dedicated to IzzyCardova, for being the first reviewer. Zero's veiws on therepy are not concrete. Talk to someone if you have suicidal thoughts, even if it's just a friend, or, Hell, no one else to turn to, talk to me. Literally. I've been there. Zero's situation is special. He is an immortal being. Talk to someone.**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

Chapter Two.

I should have killed her. I don't know why I didn't, but half-awake in the middle of the night, I just couldn't bring myself to. I'd told myself to grab the gun. I didn't. I thought it was because I'd assumed the knocks at my door were nothing, just the persisting headache. But maybe, just maybe, I'd actually known that it was her, and that was why Bloody Rose wasn't in my hand.

I opened my eyes, pushing my hands through my hair, and looked over at Yuki.

She was still. Her back was to me, arms clutched to her sides, and she was tense. Her feet were pulled up, an she was in a ball. She was edging close to the edge of the bed, almost falling off.

This wasn't the Yuki I remembered. She used to sprawl out on the bed, taking up as much room as possible.

What had happened to her?

I got up out of bed, sliding on a belt and clipping Bloody Rose into the holster. I'd fallen asleep in my clothes. I combed through my hair with my fingers; if I owned a real comb, I wasn't aware of it. "Z—" mumbled Yuki, in her sleep. I looked at her. She was silent, so I simply grabbed a jacket and slipped outside.

My apartment, in a brownstone in the rundown part of town, eight hundred a month, filled with petty criminals and hard-at-hearing seniors, had a beautiful veiw of the ocean. The balcony, giant, big enough for parties, which I didn't have nor go to (last night being an exemption), which opened out from the living room, housed a few stacked metal folding chairs, a shovel, and a handy hunting knife that may or may not have torn through more than a few vampires' guts. It was currently immbeded in a wooden column.

I rested on the railing, looking out at the waves.

I was an okay fisherman, but when you don't go to any formal fishing holes, the average amount of fish you catch is about three a year . . . and I think I caught maybe one walking by the bridge with a pole in the eight-ish nine-ish years I've lived in Coos Bay.

No fish were biting today, anyway, and the only thing I saw in the water was that seal that passed by every morning.

I dug a pack of Marlboro Lights out of my pocket and lit it with a plain, white plastic lighter, a freebie from the tobbaco store I went to when I was low on money.

I didn't really have a formal job . . . here and there from the Hunters' Agency that I'd been born into, moving boxes for my neighbour, Old Frances (who is a guy), sometimes paintballing Old Frances's daughter, Emily's, boyfriend's car if he was being an ass to her. Again, not formal, not a lotta cash, but I couldn't really put up with people these days-actually, who am I kidding, me versus people is the story of my fucking life.

I was halfway through the cigarette when it happened.

"Z-ZERO-" from inside.

I dropped the cigarette on the concrete and ran back through the doors, bursting into the bedroom.

Yuki was still asleep.

But something was wrong: she was flailing about, breathing like she was running a marathon, and she was crying. "S-stop-please-I don't-"

"Yuki-"

"Kaname, STOP-!"

"Yuki, wake up!" Her eyes opened, brown but unfocused, too dark, staring and panicked and she was hyperventilating.

"K-" she started, afraid, scrambling backwards against the headboard. "Kaname, please-d-don't-"

"Yuki-"

"Don't-d-don't-_Zero_-!"

"Yuki, look at me!"

Yuki was shaking her head wildly, ignoring me. I jumped onto the bed and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look me in the eye.

"_No_-you're not-"

_"Yuki-"_

I don't really know what happened. One minute, I was looking into familiar glimmering brown eyes, the next, literally, I was flat on my back on the bed, and she was hovering over me, eyes too light, fangs out. Crap.

I sat completely still; I wondered if she could hear my heart beating that loud; probably. _Purebloods._

"_If you're not him,"_ Yuki hissed. Her eyes were glowing blood-lust red. "_Then I'll just have to bite you to make sure, won't I?"_

Oh holy Hell. "Yuki—" Her mouth set in a grimace, and then she lowered her head.

Breath on my neck.

I gasped. A flashback was threatening, but I pushed it away. This was not Shizuka Hio; this was Yuki Kuran. I ignored the pang that her name gave me. Really, that should be my mantra. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

"You're not moving." Observed Yuki.

I tried to talk; couldn't.

Teeth against my skin. A soft exhale from the brunette, a snap of the jaw, and liquid life poured into her mouth.

I, on the other hand, jolted. Holy Hell, holy fucking Hell, does that hurt. The pain let up a little, until she gulped again, in which the whole my-veins-are-draining context came back. I forced my eyes closed, trying not to move.

Yuki at the Academy—how could she just willingly offer up her blood like that to me, if this was what it felt like? Dear god, she must've been miserable.

When she pulled back, I had to bite my bottom lip, to keep from crying out, but a short "_UGH—_" found itself past my lips.

Yuki, when she stopped, was up in less than three seconds, and back in two; she pressed a hand towel to my neck.

I grabbed the towel and threw it at the wall with a strangled sound of pain.

"Z-Zero, I—" Stuttered the brunette, scrambling for the rag again.

"It's okay." I said huskily, in almost a whisper. "I understand."

Yuki climbed back on top of me. "Look, Zero, I'm sorry—"

"It's _okay,_ I—" my hands fisted into the blankets, the rag back at the bite. "Yuki—"

She glared, and pressed harder; I gasped loudly.

"_Stop_—"

"I thought you were Kaname." She said, lowering herself to rest on my chest. His name was tainted with disgust and fear.

"_Yeah,_ I got that, quit strangling me—"

"Shut up; it's healing."

"_Make it stop healing!"_

Yuki laughed, but didn't stop.

We were both quiet, a moment, the only sound in the room being my harsh breathing. She was turned away, looking almost down, her legs in between mine. Her feet reached my knees. My arm went up, to the back of her neck, and she tensed, as if to spring away if I hurt her. I traced a patch of purple skin.

"What did he do to you?" I asked quietly, in the silence. She shook her head. "I'm not kidding, Yuki, if he—"

"If he what, Zero?" She looked up, staring at me with eyes that were no longer red.

"_I don't know, I don't know what he did._" The words were serious and fast, on an exhale. "You're too good for him, Yuki. You're better than him." _Plus, he's your brother. Um._

She was silent a moment. "I'm not special."

I blinked at her. "You're a pureblood." I replied. "You are Kaname's wife—"

"Shuddup."

"What?"

"Sh—I told him he was acting weird, and asked him what was wrong. He said—" she stopped. Exhaled. "He said, 'you are not special. I could kill you right here, and no one would notice. I could drain you dry, and nobody would care.'"

I swallowed. "Y—"

"And I thought, 'no, no one would.'"

"_Y_—"

"Then, I thought of you."

Wordlessly, my arms folded around her.

"I'm glad you didn't kill me," Yuki whispered. I was silent. "I would have let you. I didn't care about what happened to me, I just . . . I just wanted to _see_ you. I wanted to t-tell you . . . I'm making waffles, do you have any blueberries." I half-sighed.

She rolled onto the bed next to me, watching the ceiling. My arms fell limply to the coverlet. "Who the Hell has blueberries?" I asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Probably failed.

"He does." She whispered. Shivered. "God, Zero, I . . . he fired all of the servants. Made me cook."

"I refuse to accept that that is why you are traumatized. Unless you cooking for him involves things you'd rather me not talk about." I peeled the rag away gingerly. It was sticky with blood, but the wound was gone.

"Perv." Yuki accused. "No, I just . . . for a year, it was okay. I would cook and clean, and that was all. It was okay. He was . . . well, like he is to everyone else. No emotion. He never—he never told me he l-loved me, he just. I was there. I was just _there._ Like a fixture or a piece of _furniture._ Zero, he . . . I think we kissed maybe twice, that whole year. And he did it, sure, but only in front of people. Like it wasn't happening, or. It wasn't _real."_

"And the honeymoon?" I asked carefully, cautiously.

She laughed humorlessly. "It was a joke. No exotic places—he took me the mansion, showed me the room I'd be sleeping in, and went to his _fucking study."_

"That's all?"

"N-no, he." She took a deep breath. "H-he h . . . hit me."

"_What."_ The voice was simple, angry. Not at her, of course-well maybe that she didn't tell me before now, but that couldn't be helped.

"And . . . other th-things. Zero—"

"Other things, what do you mean, _other things—"_

"Zero, please drop it." Yuki said strongly. Then, eyes closed, hands on top of her eyes. "Please," she whispered.

I looked at her, outraged. Then, I bolted to my feet, heading for the door.

"Zero!" Yuki called, running after me. "You can't-" she said, grabbing my sleeve. I could see the living room. "You can't go a-after him-" the stutter was because I shook her off. _"Please!"_ She called, then, a few feet from the front door. " I forbid you!" She half-screamed.

I halted. "Is that an order, princess."

"Zero, please don't make me." She sounded close to tears.

I took a breath. "Is. That. An. _Order."_

"Z-Zero. Yes. Yes, it is." A shiver of breath, hers, told me the tears were already falling.

I stood, frozen a moment. Then. "Yuki, go back to the bedroom."

"What?" Yuki asked. "What-Zero-"

"Go_. Now."_ I bit out through clenched teeth.

A muffled sob. "You-you're ordering me around just like him."

"Yuki, _please."_ She sniffled and spun running away. The door slammed. It probably wasn't even on purpose; when Yuki was upset, she wouldn't slam the door; she'd lightly close it. She was probably just moving too fast to take care. Purebloods.

A moment of silence, thoughts of him, and him and her, and her and him, boiling in my mind.

It took two minutes.

I don't know what you would call it; a tantrum, a fit of rage. I didn't really call it anything. Leading up to it, I was just thinking ,and during them, I couldn't think. It had happened three times before this: Right after I woke up from being bitten, in that blood-filled house, when the shock wore off in the Academy before it was really an academy (that was the time that Yuki found me by the fireplace trying to tear off my flesh), and about an hour after Yuki left with Kaname. I suppose I had a condition, but I quite frankly didn't care. Not a mass murder, haven't killed myself. No therapist needed.

The first thing I did, upon snapping, was scream. It wasn't pain, or anything. Rage, mostly. I dropped to my knees, ran out of air, started again. Put my hand through the door. Kicked a hole in the wall. Next came the floor, three of them, and then the door four more times. The door, because it had blocked me. The door, because if had been out of it sooner, I would have ripped that jackass's head off twenty times over already.

And the door, because I really just wanted to hit myself, for not getting out sooner, not knowing earlier. Not taking her, kidnapping her, whatever it took to keep her away from him.

Maybe if I'd gone to their wedding, and let myself be seen, at least, she would have asked for help.

And then, after my tantrum, I retreated to the basement, locking the door behind me, and left the light off.

**Seriously, lovelies, Zero is not a good medical role model. Don't supress it; talk. I'm not kidding. Seriously.**

**Two-thousand words. You're welcome.**


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